


I Don't Remember, I Don't Recall

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Crack, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a perfectly normal Tuesday when Matt Farrell woke up and couldn’t remember who he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Remember, I Don't Recall

**Author's Note:**

> Less a story than a series of moments that I wrote for my own amusement. And for persnickett, who gave me the prompt, hah. Complete and utter crack.

It was a perfectly normal Tuesday when Matt Farrell woke up and couldn’t remember who he was.

“You’re fucking kidding me, kid,” John said around a mouthful of cheerios.

“Who the hell are _you_?” Matt shot back.

 

* ~ * ~ *

 

The doctors were stupefied. No, John said, Matthew hadn’t suffered any recent blunt force trauma to the head. No, John said, Matthew hadn’t had any recent falls. No, John said, Matthew hadn’t complained of headaches or double vision or dizziness. They ended up writing Matt a prescription for Prozac – John stuffed it in his jacket pocket with a snort, crumpled it and tossed it in the nearest wastebasket once they were out of the room – before sending them on their way.

“You’re my boyfriend,” Matt said suspiciously on the way home, shifting nervously away from him in the car every time John made a move toward the steering column.

“That’s right, kid,” John said wearily.

“My _boyfriend_ ,” Matt sniffed.

“What,” John said with a smirk, “you prefer life partner?”

“I don’t believe it,” Matt said. “You’re old enough to be my father!”

“Then I guess I’m old enough to take you over my knee if you don’t shut the fuck up, huh?”

Matt screwed up his nose. “Oh god, _please_ tell me I’m not into that.”

John sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

“These are _not_ my clothes.”

“They really are, Matthew.” John stuck his hands in his pockets, jutted his chin at the faded shirt that Matt was holding. “That’s actually one of your favourites.”

“But…” Matt looked aghast at the T-shirt, a look of horror on his face. “It’s hideous! It’s old and ripped and…” he raised the garment to his nose, made a gagging noise at the back of his throat, “it reeks! You can’t even see the logo anymore—“

“Probably some group that screams and calls it music,” John muttered.

“—and they’re ALL like that,” Matt said. He looked at the pile of shirts on the bed, then threw up his hands. “Why why why would you let me dress like this? Don’t you care about me at all? Why didn’t you stage an intervention or something?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

* * *

“Dad?”

John looked up from his book to see Lucy peeking her head around the doorframe. “Hey, honey. Back already?”

“No, Dad,” Lucy said dryly, “I’m a figment of your imagination.”

John rolled his eyes, tucked his finger between the pages of the book to hold his place. “Matt find some clothes he liked?”

“Ohhhh, he did that all right,” Lucy said. She stepped away from the archway to let Matt strut into the room.

“You like?” Matt said, holding his arms out to further show off the new wardrobe.

“You’re… that’s…” John looked frantically to Lucy for help, but she only shrugged and made a helpless gesture with her hands. He swallowed. “Is that an alligator on the pocket?”

“Mmmm,” Matt murmured in agreement. “Cool, right? Wal-Mart is dope, man. And check out the pants! It’s called corduroy,” he said primly. “I’m telling you, John, this is the best material ever.” He smoothed a hand over his thigh. “Look! It changes colour when you touch it!”

* * *

“Where’s the newspaper?”

“Left it at work,” John said without looking up from his dinner. When the answer was met with stony silence, he raised his eyes. “You don’t read it, kid.”

“What? I don’t read the -- that’s ridiculous, John. How do I stay on top of current events?”

“I…” John waved vaguely toward the banks of computers in Matt’s office, the ones that had already accumulated a week’s worth of dust. He shook his head. “I really have no idea,” he finished.

“You’re kidding, right? This is a joke? Ha ha, let’s fuck with the kid who lost his memory?”

John stifled a sigh. “You like comic books.”

For a moment Matt just stared at him. Then he reached for his coat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” John said.

“For the Wall Street Journal,” Matt said. He sniffed. “Comic books. I don’t think so.”

* * *

John frowned at the various cans and boxes in the cupboard, then shut the door with a decisive bang. “What’d ya say we go out for a nice dinner?”

Matt looked up in appreciation. “Sounds good.”

John suppressed a sigh of relief. “Grab your coat then, hackboy. I’ll even let ya get more than ketchup packets. McDonalds or Burger King?”

When Matt blanched, John knew the easy acquiescence had been too good to be true.

“I thought you said–“ Matt shook his head. “John. John. McDonalds, really? Seriously? I was reading this really great review of Adagio in the New York Times. It’s got a three star Michelin rating, John, and apparently the osso buco has never gotten less than raves. We should go out for a nice dinner. You did say a nice dinner, and--”

“Sure, kid,” John sighed, rapidly calculating the amount of money he had left in his dwindling bank account. “A nice dinner it is.”

* * *

“You know,” Matt said speculatively as he dawdled over the crème brulee, “your daughter’s kind of hot.”

John quickly raised his hand to signal a passing waiter. “We need the bill over here!”

 

* ~ * ~ * ~

 

John had already dozed off on his makeshift bed on the sofa when the bloodcurdling scream ripped through the house. He darted toward the source, briefly cursing his lack of shoes, only to collide with Matt as he careened from the bathroom.

“John! What… I don’t…”

John dashed past him to the bathroom, scanned the empty area quickly before meeting Matt back out in the hall. “Matthew,” he said, “what the FUCK?”

Matt’s hands moved restlessly up and down his slacks. “John,” he said, eyes wide as saucers, “what am I wearing? I think this is… is this polyester? And I cut my hair! And and,” he flapped his arms agitatedly, “there’s PRODUCT in the bathroom!” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I think it’s hair gel,” he said.

John seized his arms, gazed deep into his eyes. “Matt? Kid?”

“Who do you think, Pippi Longstocking? John, seriously,” he said, clutching at John’s arms, “why am I dressed like Greg Brady?”

John slumped against the wall, relief flooding through him and making his legs weak. “Believe me, kid, it’s a long story.”

* * *

“… and then you ate lobster.”

“NO!” Matt spluttered. “Oh my god McClane, how could I even… that’s disgusting! The way they kill lobster is inhumane!”

“There’s also a _People_ magazine subscription around here somewhere.”

Matt dropped his head to the kitchen table with a moan.

“Hey,” John said, prodding with one finger at the top of his head, “you know what else is inhumane, kid? Sleeping on the sofa for two weeks.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, his voice muffled by his arms, “that would suck.”

* * *

“John?”

John raised one eyelid just enough to see Matt propped against his own pillow, entirely too awake considering the pounding he’d just taken. John briefly considered doing something about that, then burrowed further into his own pillow and closed his eyes. “Hmmm?”

“I was thinking that we should burn that new wardrobe, because that would give me intense satisfaction, right, but then there’s probably some law that says a person can’t burn stuff in the backyard, like it would probably be a fire hazard or something? And anyway some people could probably use those clothes. They’d be people with no taste, true, but… oh! Maybe there’s a theatre group that could use them, if they’re doing some kind of seventies revival or something. We could check into…”

John drifted to sleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
